PKUKtKIY Of THE 

U.S. DEPARTMENT OF LABOR. 



AFTERWHILES 



BY 

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 



0^:^ 



SEVENTEENTH THOUSAND 



JntJianapolis 

BOWEN-MERRILL CO.. PUBLISHERS 

1S92 






COPYEIGHT 1887 
BY 

JAMES WHITCOMB RELET 






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AFTERWHILES 



AFTERWHILES 






3B^ the Same Butbor» 

Neghborly Poems on Friendship, Grief and 
Farm-Life— Including "The Old Swiminin' 
Hole" Series— Exclusively in Iloosier Dia- 
lect and Character. 

Sketches in Prose— With Occasional Poems. 

Afterwhiles — Serious and Dialect Poetry. 

Pipes o' Pan— Five Sketches and Fifty Poems. 

Rhymes of Childhood — Child-Dialect and 
Other Verses. 

The Flying Islands of the Night— A Fantas- 
tic Drama in Verse. 

The Above aooxs Published by 
The BOWEN-MeRRILL Co., Indianapolis. 



IN ENGLAND : 

Old-Fashioned Roses — Poems, Dialect and 
Various. 

Longmans, Green & Co., London. 



TO HUMBOLDT RILEY 



I can not say, and I ttfUl not say 
That he is dead.— He is juei away. 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Proem 1 

HekrWeiser 5 

v-The Beautiful City 7 

^ Lockerbie Street 10 

Das Krist Kindel 12 

Anselmo 18 

^"A Home-Made Fairy Tale 19 

yTHE South Wind and the Sun 21 

'/The Lost Kiss 30 

The Sphinx 33 

If I Knew what Poets Know 34 

Ike Walton's Prayer 36 

A Rough Sketch 39 

Our Kind of a Man 40 

The Harper 42 

Old Aunt Mary's 43 

Illileo 46 

The King 49 

t'A Bride 52 

The Dead Lover ' 54 

A Song 56 

When Bessie Died 57 

The Shower 59 

A Life Lesson 61 

A Scrawl 63 

Away 64 

Who Bides His Time 66 

From the Headboard of a Grave in Paraguay 68 

Laughter Holding Both His Sides 69 



\ SONNETS. 

\ PAGE. 

\ Pan 73 

V Dusk 74 

>jruNE 75 

Silence 76 

Time 77 

Sleep 79 

Her Hair 80 

, Dearth 81 

A Voice from the Farm 82 

When She Comes Home o 83 

Art and Love 84 

IN DIALECT. 

Griggsby's Station 87 

Knee-Deep in June .91 

When the Hearse Comes Back 97 

A Canary at the Farm 101 

A Liz-TowN Humorist 103 

KiNGRY's Mill 105 

JONEY 110 

Nothin' to Say 114 

Like His Mother Used to Make 116 

The Train-Misser 119 

Granny 121 

Old October t . . 124 

Jim 126 

A Tale of the Airly Days 130 

To Robert Burns 133 

A New Year's Time at Willards's 137 

The Town Karnteel 146 

Regardin' Terry Hut 148 

Leedle Dutch Baby . . . . • 151 

Down on Wriggle Crick 153 

When de Folks is Gone 157 

The Little Town o' Tailholt 159 



Note.— Acknowledgments are due the courtesy of the Century 
Magazine for reprint here of the poems " When She Comes Home,' 
and "Nothin' to Say.'^ 



TT/' HERE are ihey—iJieAftervMles- 
rr Luring us the lengthening miles 
Of our lives f Where is the dawn 
With the dew across the lawn 
Stroked with eager feet the far 
Way the hills and valleys aref 
Where the sun that smites the frown 
Of the eastward-gazer downf 
Where the rifted wreathes of mist 
O^er us, tinged with amethyst, 
Bound the mountain's steep defiles? 

Where are all the afterwhilesf 

Afterwhile — and we will go 
Thither, yon, and to and fro — 
From the stifling city-streets 
To the country's cool retreats — 
From the riot to the rest 
Where hearts heat the placidest; 
Afterwhile, and we will fall 
Under breezy trees, and loll 
In the shade, with thirsty sight 
Drinking deep the blue delight 
Of the skies that will beguile 
Us as children — afterwhile. 



Afierwhile — and one intends 
To be gentler to his friends — 
To walk with them, in the hush 
Of still evenings, o'er the plush 
Of home-leading fields, and stand 
Long at parting, hand in hand: 
One, in time, will joy to take 
New resolves for someone^ s sake, 
And wear then the look that lies 
Clear and pure in other eyes — 
He will soothe and reconcile 
Hh own conscience — afterwhile. 

Aftenvhile — we have in view 
A far scene to journey to, — 
Where the old home is, and where 
The old mother waits us there. 
Peering, as the time grows late, 
Down the old path to the gate. — 
How we'll click the latch that locks 
In the pinks and hollyhocks. 
And leap up the path once more 
Where she waits us at the door/ — 
How we'll greet the dear old smile, 
And the warm tears — afterwhile/ 



Ah, the endless aftenohiles ! — 
Leagues on leagues, and miles on miles, 
In the distance far withdrawn. 
Stretching on, and on, and on, 
Till the fancy is footsore 
And faints in the dust before 
The last milestones granite face. 
Hacked with : Here Beginneth Space. 
O far glimmering worlds and wings. 
Mystic smiles and becJconings, 
Lead us, through the shadowy aisles 
Out into the afterwhiles. 



HEEB WEISER. 

HERR WEISER! —Three-score-y ears-and-ten,- 
A hale Avliite rose of his countrymen, 
Transplanted here in the Hoosier loam, 
And blossomy as his German home — 
As blossomy, and as pure and sweet 
As the cool green glen of his calm retreat. 
Far withdrawn from the noisy town 
Where trade goes clamoring up and down. 
Whose fret and fever, and stress and strife 
May not trouble his tranquil life ! 

Breath of rest, what a balmy gust ! — 

Quit of the city's heat and dust, 

Jostling down by the winding road. 

Through the orchard ways of his quaint abode.— 

Tether the horse, as we onward fare 

Under the pear-trees trailing there, 

And thumping the wooden bridge at night 

With lumps of ripeness and lush delight, 

Till the stream, as it maunders on till dawn, 

Is powdered and pelted and smiled upon. 



HeiT AVeiser, witli his wholesome face, 

And the gentle blue of his eyes, and grace 

Of unassuming honesty, 

Be there to welcome you and me ! 

And what though the toil of the farm be stopped 

And the tireless plans of the place be dropped, 

While the prayerful master's knees are set 

In beds of pansy, and mignonette, 

And lily and aster and columbine, 

Offered in love, as yours and mine ? — 

What, but a blessing of kindly thought. 
Sweet as the breath of forget-me-not ! — 
What, but a spirit of lustrous love 
White as the aster he bends above ! — 
What, but an odorous memory 
Of the dear old man, made known to me 
In days demanding a help like his, — 
As sweet as the life of the lily is — 
As sweet as the soul of a babe, bloom-wise 
Born of a lily in paradise, 



THE BEAUTIFUL CITY, 

'yHE BEAUTIFUL CITY! Forever 
J- Its rapturous praises resound ; 
We fain would behold it — but never 

A glimpse of its glory is found : 
"We slacken our lips at the tender 

White breasts of our mothers to hear 
Of its marvelous beauty and splendor;— 

We see — but the gleam of a tear I 

Yet never the story may tire us — 

First graven in symbols of stone — 
Kewritten on scrolls of papyrus. 

And parchment, and scattered and blown 
By the winds of the tongues of all nations, 

Like a litter of leaves wildly whirled 
Down the rack of a hundred translations, 

From the earliest lisp of the world. 



We compass the earth and the ocean, 

From the Orient's uttermost light, 
To where the last ripple in motion 

Lips hem of the skirt of the night,— 
But The Beautiful City evades us — 

No spire of it glints in the sun — 
No glad-bannered battlement shades us 

When all our long journey is done. 

Where lies it? We question and listen; 

We lean from the mountain, or mast, 
And see but dull earth, or the glisten 

Of seas inconceivably vast: 
The dust of the one blurs our vision — 

The glare of the other our brain. 
Nor city nor island elysian 

In all of the land or the main! 

We kneel in dim fanes where the thunders 

Of organs tumultuous roll, 
And the longing heart listens and wonders, 

And the eyes look aloft from the soul, 



But the chanson grows fainter and fainter, 
Swoons wholly away and is dead ; 

And our eyes only reach where the painter 
Has dabbled a saint overhead. 

The Beautiful City! O mortal, 

Fare hopefully on in thy quest. 
Pass down through the green grassy portal 

That leads to the Valley of Kest, 
There first passed the One who, in pity 

Of all thy great yearning, awaits 
To point out The Beautiful City, 

And loosen the trump at the gates. 



LOCKERBIE STREET. 

SUCH a dear little street it is, nestled away 
From the noise of the city and heat of the day. 
In cool shady coverts of whispering trees, 
With their leaves lifted up to shake hands with the 

breeze 
Which in all its wide wanderings never may meet 
With a resting-place fairer than Lockerbie street ! 

There is such a relief, from the clangor and din 
Of the heart of the town, to go loitering in 
Through the dim, narrow walks, with the sheltering 

shade 
Of the trees waving over the long promenade, 
And littering lightly the ways of our feet 
With the gold of the sunshine of Lockerbie street. 

And the nights that come 'down the dark pathways 

of dusk, 
With the stars in their tresses, and odors of musk 

10 



In their moon-woven raiments, bespangled witli dews, 
And looped up with lilies for lovers to use 
In the songs that they sing to the tinkle and beat 
Of their sweet serenadings through Lockerbie street. 

O, my Lockerbie street ! You are fair to be seen — 
Be it noon of the day, or the rare and serene 
Afternoon of the night — you are one to my heart, 
And I love you above all the phrases of art, 
For no language could frame, and no lips could 

repeat 
My rhyme-haunted raptures of Lockerbie street. 



I 



DAS KRIST KIXDEL. 



HAD fed the fire aud stiiTed it, till the sparkles 
in delight 

Snapped theii' saucy little fingers at the chill Decem- 
ber night ; 

And in dressing-gown and slippers, I had tilted back 
"my throne" — 

The old split-bottomed rocker — and was musing all 
alone. 



I could hear the hungry Winter prowling round the 

outer door. 
And the tread of mufiled footsteps on the white 

piazza floor ; 
But the sounds came to me only as the murmur of a 

stream 
That mingled with the current of a lazy-flowing 

dream. 



12 



Like a fragrant incense rising, curled the smoke of 
my cigar, 

With the lamp-light gleaming through it like a mist- 
enfolded star ; — 

And as I gazed, the vapor like a curtain rolled away, 

With a sound of bells that tinkled, and the clatter 
of a sleigh. 

And in a vision, painted like a picture in the air, 
I saw the elfish figure of a man with frosty hair — 
A quaint old man that chuckled with a laugh as he 

appeared. 
And with ruddy cheeks like embers in the ashes of 

his beard. 

He poised himself grotesquely, in an attitude of 

mirth, 
On a damask-covered hassock that was sitting on the 

hearth ; 
And at a magic signal of his stubby little thumb, 
I saw the fireplace changing to a bright proscenium. 



13 



And looking there, I marveled as I saw a mimic 

stage 
Alive with little actors of a very tender age ; 
And some so very tiny that they tottered as they 

walked, 
And lisped and purled and gurgled like the brook= 

lets, when they talked. 

And their faces were like lilies, and their eyes like 

purest dew, 
And their tresses like the shadows that the shine is 

woven through ; 
And they each had little burdens, and a little tale to 

tell 
Of fairy lore, and giants, and delights delectable. 

And they mixed and intermingled, weaving melody 

with joy. 
Till the magic circle clustered round a blooming 

baby-boy ; 
And they threw aside their treasures in an ecstasy of 

glee. 
And bent, with dazzled faces, and with parted lips, 

to see, 

14 



'Twas a wondrous little fellow, with a dainty double 

chin, 
And chubby cheeks, and dimples for the smiles to 

blossom in ; 
And he looked as ripe and rosy, on his bed of straw 

and reeds, 
As a mellow little pippin that had tumbled in the 

weeds. 

And I saAv the happy mother, and a group surround- 
ing her. 

That knelt with costly presents of frankincense and 
myrrh ; 

And I thrilled with awe and wonder, as a murmur 
on the air 

Came drifting o'er the hearing in a melody of 
prayer : — 

By the sjplendor in the heavens, and the hush ui^on the 

sea, 
And the majesty of silence reigning over Galilee, — 
We feel Thy hingly presence, and ive htunbly how the 

knee 
And lift our hearts and voices in gratefidness to TJiee. 

15 



Thy messenger has spoken^ and our doubts have fled and 

gone 
As the dark and spectral slmdows of the night before 

the dawn; 
And, in the kindly shelter of the light around us drawn, 
We would, nestle down forever in the breast we lean upon. 

You have given us a shepherd — You have given us a 

guide, 
And the light of Heaven grew dimmer when You sent 

Him from Your side, — 
But He comes to lead Thy children where the gates 

will open wide 
To welcome His returning when His works are glorified. 

By the splendor in the Heavens, and the hush upon the 

sea, 
And the majesty of silence reigning over Galilee, — 
We feel Thy kingly presence, and we humbly how the 

knee 
And lift our hearts and voices in gratefulness to Thee, 



16 



Then the vision, slowly failing, with the words of 
the refrain, 

Fell swooning in the moonlight through the frosty 
window-pane ; 

And I heard the clock proclaiming, like an eager 
sentinel 

Who brings the world good tidings, — " It is Christ- 
mas — all is well!" 



T7 



ANSELMO. 

A/^EARS did I vainly seek the good Lord's grace, — 
-*- Prayed, fasted and did penance dire and dread ; 
Did kneel with bleeding knees and rainy face, 

And mouth the dust, with ashes on my head ; 
Yea, still, with knotted scourge the flesh I flayed, 

Rent fresh the wounds, and moaned and shrieked 
insanely ; 
And froth oozed with the pleadings that I made. 

And yet I prayed on vainly, vainly, vainly ! 

A time, from out of swoon, I lifted eye. 

To find a wretched outcast, gray and grim. 
Bathing my brow, with many a pitying sigh. 

And I did pray God's grace might rest on him. — 
Then, lo ! a gentle voice fell on mine ears — 

"Thou shalt not sob in suppliance hereafter; 
Take up thy prayers and wring them dry of tears. 

And lift them, white and pure, with love and 
laughter ! " 

So is it now for all men else I pray ; 
So is it I am blest and glad alway. 



A HOME-MADE FAIBY TALE. 

BUD, come here to your Uncle a spell, 
And I'll tell you something you mustn't tell — 
For it's a secret and shore-nuff true, 
And maybe I oughtn't to tell it to you! — 
But out in the garden, under the shade 
Of the aj)ple-trees, where we romped and played 
Till the moon was up, and you thought I'd gone 
Fast asleep, — That was all put on ! 
For I was a-watchin' something queer 
Goin' on there in the grass, my dear ! • — 
'Way down deep in it, there I see 
A little dude fairy who winked at me, 
And snapped his fingers, and laughed as low 
And fine as the whine of a mus-kee-to ! 
I kept still — watchin' him closer — and 
I noticed a little guitar in his hand, 
Which he leant 'ginst a little dead bee — and laid 
His cigarette down on a clean grass-blade; 

19 



And tlien climbed up on the shell of a snail - 

Carefully dusting his swallowtail — 

And pulling up, by a waxed web-thread, 

This little guitar, you remember, I said ! 

And there he trinkled and trilled a tune — 

" My Love, so fair, Tans in the Moon!" 

Till, presently, out of the clover-top 

He seemed to be singing to, came, k'pop! 

The purtiest, daintiest fairy face 

In all this world, or any place! 

Then the little ser'nader waved his hand, 

As much as to say, "We'll excuse you!" and 

I heard, as I squinted my eyelids to, 

A kiss like the drip of ^ drop of dew! 



20 



THE SOUTH WIND AND THE SUK 

OTHE South Wind and the Sun! 
How each loved the other one — 
Full of fancy — full of folly— 
Full of jollity and fun! 
How they romped and ran about, 
Like two boys when school is out. 
With glowing face, and lisping lip, 
Low laugh, and lifted shout! 

And the South Wind— he was dressed 
With a ribbon round his breast 

That floated, flapped and fluttered 
In a riotous unrest, 
And a drapery of mist. 
From the shoulder and the wrist 

Flowing backward with the motion 
Of the waving hand he kissed. 



21 



And the Sun had on a crown 

Wrought of gilded thistledown, 
And a scarf of velvet vapor, 

And a raveled-rainbow gown; 

And his tinsel-tangled hair, 

Tossed and lost upon the air, 
Was glossier and flossier 

Than any anywhere. 

And the South Wind's eyes were two 

Little dancing drops of dew. 
As he puffed his cheeks, and pursed his lips, 

And blew and blew and blew ! 

And the Sun's — like diamond-stone, 

Brighter yet than ever known. 
As he knit his brows and held his breath. 

And shone and shone and shone ! 

And this pair of merry fays 
Wandered through the summer days; 
Arm-in-arm they went together 
Over heights of morning haze — 



22 



Over slanting slopes of lawn 
They went on and on and on, 
Where the daisies looked like star-tracks 
Trailing u]3 and down the dawn. 

And where'er they found the top 

Of a wheat-stalk droop and lop 
They chucked it underneath the chin 

And praised the lavish crop, 

Till it lifted with the pride 

Of the heads it grew beside, 
And then the South Wind and the Sun 

Went onward satisfied. 

Over meadow-lands they tripped, 
Where the dandelions dipped 

In crimson foam of clover-bloom. 

And dripped and dripped and dripped; 
And they clinched the bumble-stings, 
Gauming honey on their wings, 

And bundling them in lily-bells. 
With maudlin murmurings. 



23 



And tlie liumming-"bird, that hung 

Like a jewel up among 
The tilted honeysuckle-horns, 

They mesmerized, and swung 

In the palpitating air, 

Drowsed with odors strange and rare, 
And, with whispered laughter, slipped away, 

And left him hanging there. 

And they braided blades of grass 
Where the truant had to pass; 

And they wriggled through the rushes 
And the reeds of the morass, 
Where they danced, in rapture sweet. 
O'er the leaves that laid a street 

Of undulant mosaic for 
The touches of their feet. 

By the brook with mossy brink, 
Where the cattle came to drink. 
They trilled and piped and whistled 
With the thrush and bobolink. 



m 



Till the kine, in listless pause, 
Switched their tails in mute applause, 
With lifted heads, and dreamy eyes, 
And bubble-dripping jaws. 

And where the melons grew, 
Streaked with yellow, green and blue, 

These jolly sprites went wandering 
Through spangled paths of dew; 
And the melons, here and there, 
They made love to, everywhere. 

Turning their pink souls to crimson 
With caresses fond and fair. 

Over orchard walls they went, 

Where the fruited boughs were bent 
Till they brushed the sward beneath them 

Where the shine and shadow blent; 

And the great green pear they shook 

Till the sallow hue forsook 
Its features, and the gleam of gold 

Laughed out in every look. 



25 



And they stroked the downy cheek 
Of the peach, and smoothed it sleek, 

And flushed it into splendor; 
And, with many an elfish freak. 
Gave the russet's rust a wipe — 
Prankt the rambo with a stripe. 

And the winesap blushed its reddest 
As they spanked the pippins ripe. 

Through the woven ambuscade 
That the twining vines had made, 

They found the grapes, in clusters. 
Drinking up the shine and shade — 
Plumpt, like tiny skins of wine, 
With a vintage so divine 

That the tongue of fancy tingled 
With the tang of muscadine. 

And the golden-banded bees, 
Droning o'er the flowery leas, 
They bridled, reined, and rode away 
Across the fragrant breeze, 



26 



Till in hollow oak and elm 
They had groomed and stabled them 
In waxen stalls that oozed with dews 
Of rose and lily-stem. 

Where the dusty highway leads, 
High above the wayside weeds, 

They sowed the air with butterflies 
Like blooming flower-seeds, 
Till the dull grasshopper sprung 
Half a man's height up, and hung 

Tranced in the heat, with whirring wings. 
And sung and sung and sung! 

And they loitered, hand in hand, 
Where the snipe along the sand 

Of the river ran to meet them 
As the ripple meets the land, 
Till the dragonfly, in light 
Gauzy armor, burnished bright, 

Came tilting down the waters 
In a wild, bewildered flight. 



27 



And they heard the killdee's call, 

And afar, the waterfall. 
But the rustle of a falling leaf 

They heard above it all; 

And the trailing willow crept 

Deeper in the tide that swept 
The leafy shallop to the shore, 

And wept and wept and wept! 

And the fairy vessel veered 
From its moorings — tacked and steered 
For the center of the current — 
Sailed away and disappeared : 
And the burthen that it bore 
From the long-enchanted shore — 
"Alas! the South Wind and the Sun!" 
I murmur evermore. 

For the South Wind and the Sun, 
Each so loves the other one, 
For all his jolly folly, 
And frivolity and fun, 



That our love for them they weigh 
As their fickle fancies may, 
And when at last we love them most, 
They laugh and sail away. 



29 



y 



THE LOST KISS. 

1PUT by the half-written poem, 
While the pen, idly trailed in my hand, 
Writes on, — "Had I words to complete it. 

Who'd read it, or who'd understand?" 
But the little bare feet on the stairway, 

And the faint, smothered laugh in the hall. 
And the eerie-low lisp on the silence, 
Cry up to me over it all. 

So I gather it up — where was broken 

The tear-faded thread of my theme. 
Telling how, as one night I sat writing, 

A fairy broke in on my dream, 
A little inquisitive fairy — 

My own little girl, with the gold 
Of the sun in her hair, and the dewy 

Blue eyes of the fairies of old. 

BO 



'Twas the dear little girl that I scolded — 

''For was it a moment like this," 
I said, ''when she knew I was busy, 

To come romping in for a kiss ? — 
Come rowdying up from her mother. 

And clamoring there at my knee 
For ' One 'ittle kiss for my dolly. 

And one 'ittle uzzer for me ! ' " 

God pity the heart that repelled her, 

And the cold hand that turned her away! 
And take, from the lips that denied her. 

This answerless prayer of to-day ! 
Take, Lord, from my mem'ry forever 

That pitiful sob of despair. 
And the patter and trip of the little bare feet. 

And the one piercing cry on the stair! 

I put by the half- written poem. 

While the pen, idly trailed in my hand. 

Writes on, "Had I words to complete it. 
Who'd read it, or who'd understand?" 



31 



But the little bare feet on the stairway, 
And the faint, smothered laugh in the hall, 

And the eerie-low lisp on the silence, 
Cry up to me over it all. 



THE SPHINX. 

I KNOW all about the Sphinx — 
I know even what she thinks. 
Staring with her stony eyes 
Up forever at the skies. 

For last night I dreamed that she 
Told me all the mystery- 
Why for ^ons mute she sat: — 
She was just cut out for that! 



IF I KNEW WHAT POETS KNOW. 

TF I knew what poets know, 
-*- Would I write a rkyme 
Of the buds that never blow 

In the summer time? 
"Would I sing of golden seeds 
Springing up in iron weeds? 
And of raindrops turned to snow, 
If I knew what poets know? 

Did I know what poets do, 

Would I sing a song 
Sadder than the pigeon's coo 

When the days are long? 
AYhere I found a heart in pain, 
I would make it glad again ; 
And the false should be the true, 
Did I know what poets do. 

34 



If I knew what poets know, 

I would find a theme 
Sweeter than the placid flow 

Of the fairest dream; 
I_would sing of love that lives 
On the errors it forgives, 
And the world would better grow 
If I knew what poets know. 



IKE WALTON'S PRAYER. 

T CKAVE, dear Lord, 
-■' No boundless hoard 
Of gold and gear, 
Nor jewels fine, 
Nor lands, nor kine, 
Nor treasure-lieaps of anything. — 
Let but a little hut be mine 
Where at the hearthstone I may heai 
The cricket sing, 
And have the shine 
Of one glad woman's eyes to make. 
For my poor sake. 

Our simple home a place divine; — 
Just the wee cot — ^the cricket's chirr—- 
Love, and the smiling face of her. 



I pray not for 

Great riches, nor 

For vast estates, and castle-halls, — 
Give me to hear the bare footfalls 
Of children o'er 
An oaken floor, 
New-rinsed with sunshine, or bespread 
With but the tiny coverlet 
And pillow for the baby's head; 
And, pray Thou, may 
The door stand open and the day 
Send ever in a gentle breeze, 
With fragrance from the locust-trees, 

And drowsy moan of doves, and blur 
Of robin-chirps, and drone of bees, 

With afterhushes of the stir 
Of intermingling sounds, and then 

The good-wife and the smile of her 
Filling the silences again — 
The cricket's call. 

And the wee cot, 
Dear Lord of all, 
Deny me not! 

37 



I pray not tliat 
Men tremble at 
My power of place 
And lordly sway, — 
I only pray for simple grace 
To look my neighbor in the face 

Full honestly from day to day — 
Yield me his horny palm to hold, 
And I'll not pray 
For gold; — 
The tanned face, garlanded with mirth, 
It hath the kingliest smile on earth — 
The swart brow, diamonded with sweat, 
Hath never need of coronet. 
And so I reach, 

Dear Lord, to Thee, 
And do beseech 
Thou givest me 
The wee cot, and the cricket's chirr. 
Love, and the glad sweet face of her! 



88 



A BOUGH SKETCH. 

T CAUGHT, for a second, across the crowd — 
^ Just for a second, and barely that — 
A face, pox-pitted and evil-browed, 

Hid in the shade of a sloiich-rim'd hat — 

With small, gray eyes, of a look as keen 
. As the long, sharp nose that grew between. 

And I said: 'Tis a sketch of Nature's own. 

Drawn i' the dark o' the moon, I swear. 
On a tatter of Fate that the winds have blown 

Hither and thither and everywhere 

With its keen little sinister eyes of gray, 
And nose like the beak of a bird of prey ! 



39 



OUR KIND OF A 3IAN. 

I. 

THE kind of a man for you and me! 
He faces the world unflinchingly, 
And smites, as long as the wrong resists, 
With a knuckled faith and force like fists: 
He lives the life he is preaching of. 
And loves where most is the need of love; 
His voice is clear to the deaf man's ears, 
And his face sublime through the blind man's 

tears ; 
The light shines out where the clouds were dim, 
And the widow's prayer goes up for him; 
The latch is clicked at the hovel door, 
And the sick man sees the sun once more, 
And out o'er the barren fields he sees 
Springing blossoms and waving trees. 
Feeling as only the dying may. 
That God's own servant has come that way, 

40 



Smootking the path as it still winds on 
Through the golden gate where his loved have 
gone. 

II. 
The kind of a man for me and you ! 
However little of worth we do 
He credits full, and abides in trust 
That time will teach us how more is just. 
He walks abroad, and he meets all kinds 
Of querulous and uneasy minds, 
And, sympathizing, he shares the pain 
Of the doubts that rack us, heart and brain ; 
And, knowing this, as we grasp his hand. 
We are surely coming to understand! 
He looks on sin with pitying eyes — 
E'en as the Lord, since Paradise, — 
Else, should we read, though our sins should glow 
As scarlet, they shall be white as snow? — 
And feeling still, with a grief half glad, 
That the bad are as good as the good are bad. 
He strikes straight out for the Eight — and he 
Is the kind of a man for you and me ! 



41 



THE HARPER. 



T IKE a drift of faded blossoms 
^ Caught in a slanting rain, 
His fingers glimpsed down the strings of his harp 
In a tremulous refrain. 



Patter, and tinkle, and drip, and drip I 
Ah! but the chords were rainy sweet! 

And I closed my eyes and I bit my lip, 
As he played there in the street. 

Patter, and drip, and tinkle! 

And there was the little bed 
In the corner of the garret, 

And the rafters overhead ! 

And there was the little window — 
Tinkle, and drip, and drip! — 

The rain above, and a mother's love, 
And God's companionship! 

42 



OLD AUNT MARY'S. 

WASN'T it pleasant, O brother mine, 
In those old days of the lost sunshine 
Of youth — when the Saturday's chores were 

through, 
And the "Sunday's wood" in the kitchen, too, 
And we went visiting, "me and you," 
Out to Old Aunt Mary's? 

It all comes back so clear to-day ! 
Though I am as bald as you are gray — 
Out by the barn-lot, and down the lane. 
We patter along in the dust again, 
As light as the tips of the drops of the rain. 
Out to Old Aunt Mary's! 



4S 



We cross the pasture, and through the wood 
Where the old gray snag of the poplar stood, 
Where the hammering "red-heads" hopped awry, 
And the buzzard "raised" in the " clearing"- sky, 
And lolled and circled, as we went by 
Out to Old Aunt Mary's. 

And then in the dust of the road again; 
And the teams we met, and the countrymen; 
And the long highway, with sunshine spread 
As thick as butter on country bread. 
Our cares behind, and our hearts ahead 
Out to Old Aunt Mary's. 

Why, I see her now in the open door. 
Where the little gourds grew up the sides, and o'er 
The clapboard roof! — And her face — ah, me! 
Wasn't it good for a boy to see — 
And wasn't it good for a boy to be 
Out to Old Aunt Mary's? 



44 



And O my brother, so far away, 
This is to tell you she waits to-day 
To welcome us : — Aunt Mary fell 
Asleep this morning, whispering, ''Tell 
The boys to come ! " And all is well 
Out to Old Aunt Mary's. 



45 



ILLILEO. 

ILLILEO, the moonlight seemed lost across the 
vales — 
The stars but strewed the azure as au armor's 

scattered scales ; 
The airs of night were quiet as the breath of 

silken sails, 
And all your words were sweeter than the notes 
of nightingales. 

Illileo Legardi, in the garden there alone, 

With your figure carved of fervor, as the Psyche 

carved of stone, 
There came to me no murmur of the fountain's 

undertone 
So mystically, musically mellow as your own. 



You whispered low, Illileo — so low the leaves 

were mute, 
And the echoes faltered breathless in your voice's 

vain pursuit ; 
And there died the distant dalliance of the 

serenader's lute: 
And I held you in my bosom as the husk may 

hold the fruit. 

Illileo, I listened. I believed you. In my bliss, 
What were all the worlds above me since I found 

you thus in this? — 
Let them reeling reach to win me — even Heaven 

I would miss, 
Grasping earthward! — I would cling here, though 

I clung by just a kiss. 

And blossoms should grow odorless — and lilies all 

aghast — 
A-nd I said the stars should slacken in their paces 

through the vast, 



47 



Hijf;: X^ssr^ m ^le diade j^pnr palaee ^ieoire 
^1 , ,^ ^lodi ^le Bone ii»^ na^ Tex: ^le 






THE KIXG, 

'T^HEY rode right out of the morning siin — 
^ A glimmering, glittering cavalcade 
Of knights and ladies, and every one 

In princely sheen arrayed; 
And the king of them all, O he rode ahead. 
With a helmet of gold, and a plume of red 
That spurted about in the breeze and bled 

In the bloom of the everglade. 

And they rode high over the dewy lawn, 
AVith brave, glad banners of every hue, 
That rolled in ripples, as they rode on 

In splendor, two and two; 
And the tinkling links of the golden reins 
Of the steeds they rode rang such refrains 
As the castanets in a dream of Spaiu*s 

Intensest gold and blue. 



4y 



And they rode and rode; and tlie steeds they 
neighed 
And pranced, and the sun on their glossy hides 
Flickered and lightened and glanced and played 

Like the moon on rippling tides ; 
And their manes were silken, and thick and strong, 
And their tails were flossy, and fetlock-long. 
And jostled in time to the teeming throng. 
And their knightly song besides. 

Clank of scabbard and jingle of spur. 

And the fluttering sash of the queen went wild 
In the wind, and the proud king glanced at her 

As one at a wilful child, — 
And as knight and lady away they flew. 
And the banners flapped, and the falcon, too. 
And the lances flashed and the bugle blew, 

He kissed his hand and smiled. — 

And then, like a slanting sunlit shower, 
The pageant glittered across the plain. 
And the turf spun back, and the wildweed flower 
Was only a crimson stain. 

50 



And a dreamer's eyes they are downward cast, 
As he blends these words with the wailing blast 
**It is the King of the Year rides past!" 
And Autumn is here again. 



61 



A BRIDE. 

^'f\ I AM weary!" she siglied, as lier billowy 

^ Hair she unloosed in a torrent of gold 
That rippled and fell o'er a figure as willowy, 

Graceful and fair as a goddess of old : 
Over her jewels she flung herself drearily, 

Crumpled the laces that snowed on her breast, 
Crushed with her fingers the lily that wearily 
Clung in her hair like a dove in its nest. 
"^ — And naught but her shadowy form in the 
mirror 
To kneel in dumb agony down and weep 
near her! 

"Weary?" — of what? Could we fathom the mys- 
tery ? — 
Lift up the lashes weighed down by her tears, 

And wash with their dews one white face from her 
history, 

52 



Set like a gem in the red rust of years ? 
Nothing Avill rest her — unless he who died of her 

Strayed from his grave, and, in place of the groom, 

Tipping her face, kneeling there by the side of her, 

Drained the old kiss to the dregs of his doom. 

—And naught but that shadowy form in the 

mirror 
To kneel in dumb agony down and weep 
near her! 



S8 



THE DEAD LOVEB. 

'T^IME is so long when a man is dead ! 
-*- Some one sews; and the room is made 
Very clean ; and the light is shed 
Soft through the window-shade. 

Yesterday I thought: "I know 
Just how the bells will sound, and how 

The friends will talk, and the sermon go, 
And the hearse-horse bow and bow ! " 

This is to-day; and I have no thing 
To think of — nothing whatever to do 

But to hear the throb of the pulse of a wing 
That wants to fly back to you. 



54 



A SONG. 

'T^HERE is ever a song somewhere, my dear; 
-*- There is ever a something sings alway : 
There's the song of the lark when the skies are clear, 

And the song of the thrush when the skies are gray. 
The sunshine showers across the grain, 

And the bluebird trills in the orchard tree; 
And in and out, when the eaves drip rain. 

The swallows are twittering ceaselessly. 

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear. 

Be the skies above or dark or fair. 
There is ever a song that our hearts may hear — 
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear — 

There is ever a song somewhere! 



5& 



There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, 

In the midnight black, or the mid-day blue; 
The robin pipes when the sun is here. 

And the cricket chirrups the whole night through. 
The buds may blow and the fruit may grow, 

And the autumn leaves drop crisp and sere; 
But whether the sun, or the rain, or the snow. 

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear. 



56 



s/ 



WHJi:N BESSIE DIED. 

If from your own the dimpled hands had slipped, 

And ne'er would nestle in your palm again; 
If the white feet into the grave had tripped — 

WHEN Bessie 'died— 
We braided the brown hair, and tied 
It just as her own little hands 
Had fastened back the silken strands 
A thousand times — the crimson bit 
Of ribbon woven into it 
That she had worn with childish pride — 
Smoothed down the dainty bow — and cried 
When Bessie died. 

When Bessie died — 
We drew the nursery blinds aside, 
And, as the morning in the room 
Burst like a primrose into bloom. 



57 



^ 



Her pet canary's cage we hung 
Where she might hear him when he sung 
And yet not any note he tried, 
Though she lay listening folded-eyed. 

When Bessie died — 

We writhed in prayer unsatisfied; 

We begged of God, and He did smile 

In silence on us all the while; 

And we did see Him, through our tears, 

Enfolding that fair form of hers. 

She laughing back against His love 

The kisses we had nothing of — 

And death to us he still denied, 

When Bessie died — 

When Bessie died. 



58 



THE SHOWER. 

THE landscape, like the awed face of a child, 
Grew curiously blurred; a hush of death 
Fell on the fields, and in the darkened wild 
The zephyr held its breath. 

No wavering glamour-work of light and shade 
Dappled the shivering surface of the brook; 

The frightened ripples in their ambuscade 
Of willows thrilled and shook. 

The sullen day grew darker, and anon 
Dim flashes of pent anger lit the sky; 

With rumbling Avheels of wrath came rolling on 
The storm's artillery. 



59 



The cloud above put on its blackest frown, 
And then, as with a vengeful cry of pain. 

The lightning snatched it, ripped and flung it down 
In raveled shreds of rain : 

While I, transfigured by some wondrous art. 
Bowed with the thirsty lilies to the sod. 

My empty soul brimmed over, and my heart 
Drenched with the love of God. 



60 



(/ 



T 



A LIFE-LESSON. 

HERE! little girl; don't cry! 

They have broken your doll, I know; 
And your tea-set blue, 
And your play-house, too. 
Are things of the long ago ; 

But childish troubles will soon pass by. 
There ! little girl ; don't cry ! 



There ! little girl ; don't cry ! 

They have broken your slate, I know ; 
And the glad, wild ways 
Of your school-girl days 
Are things of the long ago; 

But life and love will soon come by. — 
There ! little girl ; don't cry I 



Gl 



There ! little girl ; don't cry ! 

They have broken your heart, I know ; 
And the rainbow gleams 
Of your youthful dreams 
Are things of the long ago ; 

But heaven holds all for which you 
sigh, — 
There ! little girl ; don't cry ! 



62 



A SCRAWL. 

T WANT to sing something — but this is all — 
^ I try and I try, but the rhymes are dull, 
As though they were damp, and the echoes fall 
Limp and unlovable. 

Words will not say what I yearn to say — 
They will not walk as I want them to; 
But they stumble and fall in the path of the way 
Of my telling my love for you. 

Simply take what the scrawl is worth — 

Knowing I love you as sun the sod 
On the ripening side of the great round earth 
That swings in the smile of God. 



63 



/ 
^I 



AWAY. 

CAN NOT say, and I will not say 
That he is dead. — He is just away! 



With a cheery smile, and a wave of the hand, 
He has wandered into an unknown land, 

And left us dreaming how very fair 
It needs must be, since he lingers there. 

And you — O you, who the wildest yearn 
For the old-time step and the glad return, — 

Think of him faring on, as dear 

In the love of There as the love of Here ; 

And loyal still, as he gave the blows 

Of his warrior-strength to his country's foes. — 

G4 



Mild and gentle, as he was brave, — 
When the sweetest love of his life he gave 

To simple things: — Where the violets grew 
Pure as the eyes they were likened to, 

The touches of his hands have strayed 
As reverently as his lips have prayed: 

When the little brown thrush that harshly chirred 
Was dear to him as the mocking-bird; 

And he pitied as much as a man in pain 
A writhing honey-bee wet with rain. — 

Think of him still as the same, I say : 
He is not dead — he is just away! 



65 



WHO BIDES HIS TIME. 

WHO bides his time, and day by day 
Faces defeat full patiently, 
And lifts a mirthful roundelay, 

However poor his fortunes be, — 
He will not fail in any qualm 

Of poverty — the paltry dime 
It will grow golden in his palm, 
Who bides his time. 

Who bides his time — he tastes the sweet 
Of honey in the saltest tear ; 

And though he fares with slowest feet, 
Joy runs to meet him, drawing near ; 

The birds are heralds of his cause. 
And like a never-ending rhyme. 

The roadsides bloom in his applause, 
Who bides his time. 



66 



Who bides his time, and fevers not 
In the hot race that none achieves, 

Shall wear cool-wreathen laurel, wrought 
With crimson berries in the leaves; 

And he shall reign a goodly king. 
And sway his hand o'er every clime, 

"yith peace writ on his signet ring. 
Who bides his time. 



67 



FROM THE HEADBOARD OF A GRAVE IN 
PARAGUAY. 

ATEOTH, and a grief, and a blessing, 
Disguised them and came this way, — 
And one was a promise, and one was a doubt, 
And one was a rainy day. 

And they met betimes with this maiden, — 
And the promise it spake and lied. 

And the doubt it gibbered and hugged itself. 
And the rainy day — she died. 



68 



LAUGHTEB HOLDING BOTH HIS SIDES. 

A YE, thou varlet ! Laugh away ! 
-^^ All the world's a holiday! 
Laugh away, and roar and shout 
Till thy hoarse tongue lolleth out! 
Bloat thy cheeks, and bulge thine eyes 
Unto bursting, pelt thy thighs 
With thy swollen palms, and roar 
As thou never hast before! 
Lustier ! wilt thou ! peal on peal ! 
Stillest? Squat and grind thy heel — 
Wrestle with thy loins, and then 
Wheeze thee whiles, and whoop again ! 



69 



SOxNNETS 



PAN. 

'pHIS PAN is but an idle god, I guess, 
-^ Since all the fair midsummer of my dreams 

He loiters listlessly by woody streams, 
Soaking the lush glooms up with laziness; 
Or drowsing while the maiden-winds caress 

Him prankishly, and powder him with 
gleams 

Of sifted sunshine. And he ever seems 
Drugged with a joy unutterable — unless 

His low pipes whistle hints of it far out 
x\cross the ripples to the dragonfly 

That, like a wind-born blossom blown about. 
Drops quiveringly down, as though to die — 

Then lifts and wavers on, as if in doubt 

Whether to fan his wings or fly without. 



73 



DUSK. 

THE frightened herds of clouds across the sky 
Trample the sunshine down, and chase the day 

Into the dusky forest-lands of gray 
And sombre twilight. Far, and faint, and high, 
The wild goose trails his harrow, with a cry 

Sad as the wail of some poor castaway 

Who sees a vessel drifting far astray 
Of his last hope, and lays him down to die. 
The children, riotous from school, grow bold, 

And quarrel with the wind whose angry gust 
Plucks off the summer-hat, and flaps the fold 

Of many a crimson cloak, and twirls the dust 
In spiral shapes grotesque, and dims the gold 

Of gleaming tresses with the blur of rust. 



74 



JUNE. 

r\ QUEENLY month of indolent repose ! 

^ I drink thy breath in sips of rare perfume, 

As in thy downy lap of clover-bloom 
I nestle like a drowsy child, and doze 
The lazy hours away. The zephyr throws 
The shifting shuttle of the summer's loom. 
And weaves a damask-work of gleam and 
gloom 
Before thy listless feet: The lily blows 
A bugle-call of fragrance o'er the glade ; 
And, wheeling into ranks, with plume and 
spear. 
Thy harvest-armies gather on parade ; 
While, faint and far away, yet pure and 
clear, 
A voice calls out of alien lands of shade,— 
*'A11 hail the Peerless Goddess of the Year!" 



75 



SILENCE. 

'T^HOUSANDS and thousands of hushed years 
^ ago, 

Out on the edge of Chaos, all alone 

I stood on peaks of vapor, high upthrown 
Above a sea that knew nor ebb nor flow, 
Nor any motion won of winds that blow, 

Nor any sound of watery wail or moan. 

Nor lisp of wave, nor wandering undertone 
Of any tide lost in the night below. 
So still it was, I mind me, as I laid 

My thirsty ear against mine own faint sigh 
To drink of that, I sipped it, half afraid 

'Twas but the ghost of a dead voice spilled by 
The one starved star that tottered through the 
shade. 

And came tiptoeing toward me down the sky. 



76 



TIME. 

I. 

THE TICKING— ticking — ticking of the clock! 
That vexed me so last night! — "For though 
Time keeps 
Such drowsy watch," I moaned, "he never 
sleeps, 
But only nods above the world to mock 
Its restless occupant, then rudely rock 
It as the cradle of a babe that weeps ! " 
I seemed to see the seconds piled in heaps 
Like sand about me ; and at every shock 
Of the harsh bell, tolling a new hour's birth, 

The sandy pyramids were swirled away 
As by a desert-storm that swept the earth 

Stark as a granary floor, whereon the gray 
And mist-bedrizzled moon amidst the dearth 
Came crawling, like a sickly child, to lay 
Its pale face next mine own and weep for day. 

77 



TIME. 

II. 
Wait for the morning ! Ah ! we wait indeed 
For daylight, we who toss about through stress 
Of vacant-armed desires and emptiness 
Of all the warm, warm touches that we need, 
And the warm kisses upon which we feed 
Our famished lips in fancy ! May God bless 
The starved lips of us with but one caress 
Warm as the yearning blood our poor hearts 

bleed ! 
. . . . A wild prayer! — bite thy pillow, praying 
so — 
Toss this side, and whirl that, and moan for 
dawn; 
Let the clock's seconds dribble out their woe, 
And Time be drained of sorrow ! Long ago 
We heard the crowing cock, with answer 
drawn. 

As hoarsely sad at throat as sobs Pray 

on! 



78 



SLEEP. 

T^HOU drowsy god, whose blurred eyes, half 
^ awink, 

Muse on me, — drifting out upon thy dreams, 

I lave my soul as in enchanted streams, 
Where reveling satyrs pipe along the brink, 
A-nd, tipsy with the melody they drink, 

Uplift their dangling hooves and down the 
beams 

Of sunshine dance like motes. Thy languor 
seems 
An ocean-depth of love wherein I sink 

Like some fond Argonaut, right willingly,— 
Because of wooing eyes upturned to mine^ 

And siren-arms that coil their sorcery 
About my neck, with kisses so divine. 

The heavens reel above me, and the sea 

Swallows and licks its wet lips over me. 



79 



HER HAIR. 

THE beauty of her hair bewilders me — 
Pouring adown the brow, its cloven tide 
Sv/irling about the ears on either side, 
And storming round the neck tumultuously ; 
Or like the lights of old antiquity 

Through mullioned windows, in cathedrals 

wide. 
Spilled moltenly o'er figures deified 
In chastest marble, nude of drapery. 
And so I love it. — Either unconfined ; 

Or plaited in close braidings manifold; 
Or smoothly drawn ; or indolently twined 
In careless knots whose coilings come 
unrolled 
At any lightest kiss; or by the wind 
Whipped out in flossy ravelings of gold. 



80 



DEARTH. 

1H0LD your trembling hand to-night — and yet 
I may not know what wealth of bliss is mine, 
My heart is such a curious design 
Of trust and jealousy ! Your eyes are wet — 
So must I think they jewel some regret, — 
And lo, the loving arms that round me twine 
Cling only as the tendrils of a vine 
Whose fruit has long been gathered: I forget, 
While crimson clusters of your kisses press 

Their wine out on my lips, my royal fare 
Of rapture, since blind fancy needs must guess 
They once poured out their sweetness 
otherwhere, 
-With fuller flavoring of happiness 

Th^n e'en your broken sobs may now declare. 



81 



A VOICE FROM THE FARM. 

T is my dream to have you here with me, 
Out of the heated city's dust and din — 
Here where the colts have room to gambol in, 
And kine to graze, in clover to the knee. 
I want to see your wan face happily 

Lit with the wholesome smiles that have not 

been 
In use since the old games you used to win 
When we pitched horseshoes: And I want to be 
At utter loaf with you in this dim land 
Of grove and meadow, while the crickets 
make 
Our own talk tedious, and the bat wields 
His bulky flight, as we cease converse, and 
In a dusk like velvet smoothly take 
Our way toward home across the dewy 
fields. 



82 



WHEN SHE COMES HOME. 

WHEN she comes home again ! A thousand 
ways 

I fashion, to myself, the tenderness 

Of my glad welcome : I shall tremble — yes ; 
And touch her, as when first in the old days 
I touched her girlish hand, nor dared upraise 

Mine eyes, such was my faint heart's sweet 
distress. 

Then silence : And the perfume of her dress : 
The room will sway a little, and a haze 

Cloy eyesight — soulsight, even — for a space: 
And tears — yes ; and the ache here in the throat, 

To know that I so ill deserve the place 
Her arms make for me ; and the sobbing note 

I stay with kisses, ere the tearful face 

Again is hidden in the old embrace. 



83 



ART AND LOVE. 

TIE faced his canvas (as a seer whose ken 
-'- -'- Pierces the crust of this existence through) 
And smiled beyond on that his genius knew 
Ere mated with his being. Conscious then 
Of his high theme alone, he smiled again 
Straight back upon himself in many a hue, 
And tint, and light, and shade, which slowly 
grew 
Enfeatured of a fair girl's face, as when 

First time she smiles for love sake with no 
fear. 
So wrought he, witless that behind him leant 
A woman, with old features, dim and sere, 
And glamoured eyes that felt the brimming 
tear, 
And with a voice, like some sad instrument. 
That sighing said, ''I'm dead there; love me 
here I " 

84 



IN DIALECT 



v/ 



P' 



GRIGGSBY'S STATION. 

fAP'S got his patent-right, and rich as all 

creation ; 

But where's the peace and comfort that we all 
had before? 
Tjc's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station — 
Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore! 

The likes of us a-livin' here ! It's jest a mortal 

pity 

To see us in this great big house, with cyarpets 

on the stairs, 
And the pump right in the kitchen ! And the 

city ! city ! city ! — 
And nothin' but the city all around us 

ever'wheres ! 



87 



Climb clean above the roof and look from the 
steeple, 
And never see a robin, nor a beech or ellum 
tree! 
And right here in ear-shot of at least a thousan' 
people, 
And none that neighbors with us, or we want 
to go and see ! 

Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station — 
Back where the latch-string's a-hangin' from the 
door. 
And ever' neighbor 'round the place is dear as a 
relation — 
Back where we ust to be so happy and so 
pore ! 

I want to see the Wiggenses, the whole kit and 
bilin', 
A drivin' up from Shallor Ford to stay the 
Sunday through ; 
And I want to see 'em hitchiu' at their 
son-in-law's and piliu' . 
Out there at 'Lizy Ellen's like they ust to do! 



I want to see the piece-quilts the Jones girls is 
makin' ; 
And I want to pester Laury 'bout their 
freckled hired hand, 
And joke her 'bout the widower she come purt' 
nigh a-takin', 
Till her pap got his pension 'lowed in time to 
save his land. 

Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station — 

Back where they's nothin' aggervatin' anymore, 
Shet away safe in the woods around the old 
location — 
Back where we ust to be so happy and so 
pore ! 

I want to see Marindy and he'p her witt her 
sewin', 
And hear her talk so lovin' of her man that's 
dead and gone, 
And stand up with Emanuel to show me how 
he's growin', 
And smile as I have saw her 'fore she put her 
mournin' on. 

89 



And I want to see the Samples, on the old lower 
eighty — 
Where John our oldest boy, he was tiik and 
hurried — for 
His own sake and Katy's, — and I want to cry 
with Katy 
As she reads all his letters over, writ from The 
War. 

What's in all this grand life and high situation, 
And nary a pink nor hollyhawk bloomin' at 
the door? — 
Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station — 
Back where we ust to be so happy and so 
pore! 



90 



KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE. 

I. 

TELL you what I like the best — 
'Long about knee-deep in June, 
'Bout the time strawberries melts 
On the vine, — some afternoon 
Like to jes' git out and rest, 

And not work at nothin' else! 

II. 

Orchard's where I'd ruther be — 
Needn't fence it in fer me! — 
Jes' the whole sky overhead, 

And the whole airth underneath - 
Sorto' so's a man kin breathe 
Like he ort, and kindo' has 
Elbow-room to keerlessly 

Sprawl out len'thways on the grass 



91 



, Where the shadders thick and soft 
As the kivvers on the bed 
Mother fixes in the loft 
Alius, when they's company! 

III. 
Jes' a sorto' lazein' there — 
S'lazy, 'at you peek and peer 
Through the wavin' leaves above, 
Like a feller 'ats in love 
And don't know it, ner don't keer ! 
Ever'thing you hear and see 
Got some sort o' interest — 
Maybe find a bluebird's nest 
Tucked up there conveenently 
Fer the boys 'ats apt to be 
Up some other apple-tree! 
Watch the swallers skootin' past 
'Bout as peert as you could ast ; 
Er the Bobwhite raise and whiz 
Where some other's whistle is. 



92 



Ketch a shadder down below, 
And look up to find the crow; 
Er a hawk away up there, 
'Pearantly froze in the air ! — 

Hear the old hen squawk, and squat 

Over every chick she's got, 
Suddent-like ! — And she knows where 

That-air hawk is, well as you I — 

You jes' bet yer life she do ! — 
Eyes a-glitterin' like glass, 
Waitin' till he makes a pass! 

V. 

Pee-wees' singin', to express 

My opinion's second class, 
Yit you'll hear 'em more er less; 

Sapsucks gittin' down to biz, 
Weedin' out the lonesomeness ; 

Mr. Bluejay, full o' sass. 

In them base-ball clothes o' his, 
Sportin' 'round the orchard jes' 



93 



Like he owned tlie premises! 

Sun out in the fields kin sizz, 
But flat on yer back, I guess, 
In the shade's where glory is! 
That's jes' what I'd like to do 
Stiddy fer a year er two! 

VI. 

Plague ! ef they aint sompin' in 
Work 'at kindo' goes ag'in 
My convictions ! — 'long about 
Here in June especially ! — 
Under some old apple tree^ 

Jes' a-restin' through and through, 
I could git along without 
Nothin' else at all to do 
Only jes' a-wishin' you 
Was a-gittin' there like me. 
And June was eternity! 

VII. 

Lay out there and try to see 
Jes' how lazy you kin be ! — 

94 



Tumble round and souse yer head 
In the clover-bloom, er pull 

Yer straw hat acrost yer eyes, 
And peek through it at the skies, 
Thinkiu' of old chums 'ats dead, 
Maybe, smilin' back at you 
In betwixt the beautiful 

Clouds o' gold and white and 
blue! — 
Month a man kin railly love — 
June, you know, I'm talkin' of! 

VIII. 

March aint never nothin' new ! — 
Aprile's altogether too 
Brash fer me ! and May — I jes' 
'Bominate its promises, — 
Little hints o' sunshine and 
Green around the timber-land — 
A few blossoms, and a few 
Chip-birds, and a sprout er two — 
Drap asleep, and it turns in 
Tore daylight and snows agin! — 

95 



But when June comes — Clear my throat 

With wild honey! Eench my hair 
In the dew ! and hold my coat ! 

Whoop out loud ! and throw my hat ! 
June wants me, and I'm to spare ! 
Spread them shadders anywhere, 
I'll git down and waller there. 
And obleeged to you at that! 



96 



WHEN THE HEARSE COMES BACK. 

\ THING 'at's 'bout as tryiu' as a healthy man 
^ kin meet 
Is some poor feller's funeral a-joggin' 'long the 

street : 
The slow hearse and the hosses — slow enough, to 

say the least, 
Fer to even tax the patience of the gentleman 

deceased ! 
The slow scrunch of the gravel — and the slow 

grind of the wheels, — 
The slow, slow go of ev'ry woe 'at ev'rybody 

feels ! 
So I ruther like the contrast when I hear the 

whiplash crack 
A quickstep fer the hosses, 
When the 

Hearse 

Comes 

Back! 

97 



Meet it goin' to'rds the cemet'ry, you'll want to 

drap yer eyes — 
But ef the plumes don't fetch you, it'll ketch you 

otherwise — 
You'll haf to see the caskit, though you'd ort to 

look away, 
And 'conomize and save yer sighs for any other 

day! 
Yer sympathizin' won't wake up the sleeper from 

his rest — 
Yer tears won't thaw them hands o' his 'at's froze 

acrost his breast ! 
And this is why — when airth and sky's a~gittiu' 

blurred and black — 
I like the flash and hurry 

When the 

Hearse 

Comes 

Back ! 

It's not 'cause I don't 'predate it aint no time 

fer jokes, 
Ner 'cause I' got no common human feelin's fer 

the folks ; — 

98 



I've went to funerals myse'f, and took on some, 

perhaps, 
Fer my heart's 'bout as mall'able as any other 

chap's, — 
I've buried father, mother — but I'll haf to jes' 

git you 
To ''excuse me" as the feller says. — The p'int 

I'm drivin' to 
Is, simply, when we're plum' broke down and all 

knocked out a'whack, 
It he'ps to shape us up, like, 

When the 

Hearse 

Comes 

Back! 

The idy! wadin' round here over shoe-mouth deep 

in woe. 
When they's a graded 'pike o' joy and sunshine, 

don't you know! 
When evenin' strikes the pastur', cows'U pull out 

fer the bars. 
And skittish-like from out the night'U prance the 

happy stars. 

yy 

L.ofC. 



And so when my time comes to die, and I've got 

ary friend 
'At wants expressed my last request — I'll, mebby, 

rickommend 
To drive slow, ef tliey haf to, goin' 'long the 

out'ard track. 
But I'll smile and say, ' ' You speed 'em 
When the 

Hearse 

Comes 

Back!'^ 



100 



A CANARY AT THE FARM. 

FOLKS has ben to town and Sahry 
Fetched 'er home a pet canary, — 
And of all the blame', contrary, 

Aggervatin' things alive! 
I love music — that's I love it 
When its free — and plenty of it ; — 
But I kindo' git above it, 
At a dollar-eighty-five! 

Keason's plain as I'm a-sayin', — 
Jes' the idy, now, o' layin' 
Out yer money, and a-payin' 

Fer a wilier-cage and bird, 
When the medder-larks is wiugin' 
Round you, and the woods is riugin' 
With the beautifullest singin' 

That a mortal ever heard! 



101 



Sahry's sot, tho', — so I teil her 

He's a purty little feller, 

With his wings o' creamy-yeller, 

And his eyes keen as a cat; 
And the twitter o' the critter 
'Pears to absolutely glitter! 
Guess I'll haf to go and git her 

A high-priceter cage 'u that ! 



102 



A LIZ-TOWN HUMORIST. 

SETTIN' round the stove, last night, 
Down at Wess's store, was me 
And Mart Strimples, Timk, and White, 
And Doc Bills, and two er three 
Fellers of the Mudsock tribe 
No use tryin' to describe! 
And says Doc, he says, says he, — 
"Talkin' 'bout good things to eat. 
Ripe mushmillon's hard to beat ! " 

I chawed on. And Mart he 'lowxd 
Wortermillon beat the mush. — 

"Red," he says, "and juicy — Hush! — 
I'll jes' leave it to the crowd ! " 
Then a Mudsock chap, says he, — 

"Punkin's good enough fer me — 
Punkin pies, I mean," he says, — 

"Them beats millons! What say, Wess?" 

103 



I chawed on. And Wess says, — "Well, 

You jes' fetch that wife of mine 

All yer wortermillon-rme, 

And she'll bile it down a spell — 

In with sorgum, I suppose. 

And what else, Lord only knows ! — 

But I'm here to tell all hands, 

Them p'serves meets my demands!" 

I chawed on. And White he says, — 
''Well, I'll jes' stand in with Wess — 

I'm no hog!" And Tunk says, — "I 

Guess I'll pastur' out on pie 

With the Mudsock boys!" says he; 
"Now what's yourn?" he says to me: 

I chawed on — fer -quite a spell — 

Then I speaks up, slow and dry, — 
"Jes' tobacker!" I-says-I. — 

And you'd orto' heerd 'em yell! 



104 



KINGRY'S MILL. 

f\N old Brandywine — about 
^ Where White's Lots is now laid out, 
And the old crick narries down 
To the ditch that splits the town, — 
Kingry's Mill stood: Hardly see 
Where the old dam ust to be ; 
Shallor, long, dry trought o' grass 
AVhere the old race ust to pass! 

That's ben forty years ago — 
Forty years of frost and snow — 
Forty years of shade and shine 
Sence them boyhood days o' mine ! — 
All the old landmarks o' town, 
Changed about, er rotted down ! 
Where's the tanyard? Where's the 'still? 
Tell me where's old Kingry's Mill? 

105 



Don't seem furder back, to me, 

I'll be dogg'cl ! than yisterdy, 

Sence us fellers, in bare feet 

And straw hats, went through the wheat, 

Cuttin' crost the shortest shoot 

Fer that-air old ellum-root 

Jest above the mill-dam, where 

The blame' cars now crosses there ! 

Through the willers down the crick 
We could see the old mill stick 
Its red gable up, as if 
It jest knowed we'd stol'd the skiff! 
See the winders in the sun 
Blink like they was Avonderun' 
AVhat the miller ort to do 
With sich boys as me and you! 

But old Kingry ! — who could fear 
That old chap, with all his cheer ? — 
Leanin' at the winder-sill, 
Er the half-door of the mill, 



106 



Swoppin' lies, and pokin' fun 
'Njigglin' like his hoppers done, 
Laughin' grists o' gold and red 
Right out o' the wagon-bed ! 

What did he keer where we went ? — 
"Jest keep out o' devilment, 
And don't fool around the belts. 
Bolts, ner burrs, ner nothin' else 
'Bout the blame machinery, 
And that's all I ast ! " says-ee. 
Then we'd climb the stairs, and play 
In the bran-bins half the day ! 

Rickollect the dusty' wall, 
And the spider-webs, and all ! 
Rickollect the trimblin' spout 
Where the meal come josslin' out — 
Stand and comb yer fingers through 
The fool-truck an hour er two — 
Felt so sort o' warm-like and 
Soothin' to a feller's hand! 



107 



Climb, high up above the stream, 
And "coon" out the wobbly beam 
And peek down from out the lof 
Where the weatherboards was off — 
Gee-mun-nee! w'y? it takes grit 
Even jest to think of it ! — 
Lookin' 'way down there below 
On the worter roarin' so ! 

Rickollect the flume, and wheel. 
And the worter, slosh and reel, 
And jest ravel out in froth 
Flossier'n satin cloth! 
Rickollect them paddles jest 
Knock the bubbles galley-west, 
And plunge under, and come up, 
Drippin' like a worter-pup! 

And, to see them old things gone 
That I onc't was bettin' on. 
In rale pint o' fact, I feel 
Kindo' like that worter-wheel, — 



108 



Sorto' drippy-like and wet 
Kound the eyes — but paddlin' yet, 
And, in mem'ry, loafin' still 
Down around old Kingry's Mill! 



109 



JONEY. 

T T AD a hare-lip — Joney had : 

^ ^ Spiled his looks, and Joney knowed it ; 

Fellers tried to bore him, bad — 

But, ef ever he got mad, 

He kep' still and never showed it. 
'Druther have his mouth, all pouted 

And split up, and like it wuz. 
Than the ones 'at laughed about it. — 

Purty is as purty does! 

Had to listen ruther clos't 

'Fore you knowed what he wuz givin' 
You ; and yet, without no boast 
Joney he wuz jes' the most 

Entertainin' talker livin' ! 
Take the Scriptures and run through 'em. 

Might say, like a' auctionier, 
And 'ud argy and review 'em 

'At wuz beautiful to hear! 

110 



Hare-lip and inpediment, 

Both wuz bad, and both agin him — 
But the old folks where he went, 
'Peared like, knowin' his intent, 

'Soused his mouth for what wuz in him. 
And the chUdern all loved Joney — 

And he loved 'em back, you bet ! — 
Put their arms around him on'y 

None had ever kissed him yet! 

In young company, someway. 

Boys 'ud grin at one-another 
On the sly; and girls 'ud lay 
Low, with nothin' much to say, 

Er leave Joney with their mother. 
Many and many a time he's fetched 'em 

Candy by the paper-sack. 
And turned right around and ketched 'em 

Makin' mouths behind his back! 



Ill 



S'prised, sometimes, the slurs he took. — 

Chap said onc't his mouth looked sorter 
Like a fish's mouth 'ud look 
When he'd ben jerked off the hook 

And plunked back into the worter. — 
Same durn feller — its su'prisin', 

But it's facts — 'at stood and cherred 
From the bank that big baptizin' 

Tike-bridge accident occurred ! 

Cherred fer Joney while he give 

Life to little childern drowndin'! 
Which wuz fittenest to live — 
Him 'at cherred, er him 'at div' 

And saved thirteen lives? . . . They 
found one 
Body, three days later, floated 

Down the by-o, eight mile' south, 
All so colored-up and bloated — 

On'y knowed him by his mouth ! 



112 



Had a hare-lip — Joney had — 

Folks 'at filed apast all knowed it — 
Them 'at ust to smile looked sad, 
But ef HE thought good er bad, 

He kep' still and never showed it. 
'Druther have that mouth, all pouted 

And split up, and like it wuz, 
Than the ones 'at laughed about it. 

Purty is as purty does! 



lis 



N 



NOTHIN' TO SAY. 

OTHIN' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all 

to say ! — 
Gyrls that's in love, I've noticed, ginerly has their 

way! 
Yer mother did, afore you, when her folks 

objected to me — 
Yit here I am, and here you air ; and yer 

mother — where is she? 

You look lots like yer mother: Purty much 

same in size ; 
And about the same complected ; and favor about 

the eyes : 
Like her, too, about her livin' here, — because she 

couldn't stay : 
It'll 'most seem like you was dead — like her! — 

but I hain't got nothin' to say! 

114 



She left you her little Bible — writ yer name 

acrost the page — 
And left her ear-bobs fer you, ef ever you come 

of age. 
I've alius kep' 'em and gyuarded 'em, but ef yer 

goin' away — 
Nothin' to say, my daughter ! Nothin' at all to say ! 

You don't rikollect her, I reckon ? No ; you 

wasn't a year old then ! 
And now yer — how old air you? Wy, child, 

not ' ' twenty I " When ? 
And yer nex' birthday's in Aprile? and you want 

to git married that day? 
.... I wisht yer mother was livin' ! — but — I 

hain't got nothin' to say ! 

Twenty year! and as good a gyrl as parent ever 

found ! 
There's a straw ketched onto yer dress there — I'll 

bresh it off — turn round. 
(Her mother was jes' twenty when us two run 

away ! ) 
Nothin' to say, my daughter ! Nothin' at all to say ! 

115 



LIKE HIS MOTHER USED TO MAKE. 

"uncle JAKE's place," ST. JO, MO., 1874. 

" T WAS born in Indiany," says a stranger, 
^ lank and slim, 
As ns fellers in the restarunt was kindo' guyin' 

him. 
And Uncle Jake was slidin' him another 

punkin pie 
And a' extry cup o' cofiee, with a twinkle in 

his eye, — 
"I was born in Indiany — more'n forty j'^ear' 

ago — 
And I hain't ben back in twenty — and I'm 

workin' back'ards slow ; 
But I've et in ever' restarunt twixt here and 

Santy Fee, 
And I want to state this coffee tastes like gittiu' 

home, to me ! 

116 



''Pour us out another, Daddy," says the feller, 

warmin' up, 
A-speakin' 'crost a saucerful, as Uncle tuck his 

cup,— 
" When I seed yer sign out yander," he went on, 

to Uncle Jake, — 
" ' Come in and git some coffee like yer mother 

used to make' — 
I thought of my old mother, and the Posey 

county farm. 
And me a little kid agin, a-hangin' in her arm, 
As she set the pot a-bilin', broke the eggs and 

poured 'em in " — 
And the feller kindo' halted, with a trimble in 

his chin : 

And Uncle Jake he fetched the feller's coffee 

back, and stood 
As solemn, fer a minute, as a' undertaker 

would ; 
Then he sorto' turned and tiptoed to'rds the 

kitchen door — and next, 
Here comes his old wife out with him, a-rubbin' 

of her specs — 

117 



And she rushes fer the stranger, and she 

hollers out, "It's him! — 
Thank God we've met him cominM — Don't you 

know yer mother, Jim ? " 
And the feller, as he grabbed her, says, — 

''You bet I hain't forgot — 
But," wipin' of his eyes, says he, "yer coffee's 

mighty hot ! " 



118 



. THE TBAIN-MISSEB. 

AT UNION DEPOT. 

'T L WHEKE in the world my eyes has bill' 
^ Ef I haint missed that train agin ! 
Chuff! and whistle! and toot! and ring! 
But blast and blister the dasted train! — 
How it does it I can't explain ! 
Git here thirty-five minutes before 
The dern thing's due ! — and, drat the thing ! 
It'll manage to git past — shore! 

The more I travel around, the more 
I got no sense ! — To stand right here 
And let it beat me! 'LI ding my melts! 
I got no gumption, ner nothin' else! 
Ticket Agent's a dad-burned bore ! — 
Sell you a ticket's all they keer! — 

119 



Ticket Agents ort to all be 
Prosecuted — and that's jes' what! — 
How'd I know which train's fer me? 
And how'd I know Avhich train was not? — ■ 
Goern and comin' and gone astray, 
And backin' and switchin' ever'- which- way ! 

Ef I could jes' sneak round behind 
Myse'f, where I could git full swing, — 
I'd lift my coat, and kick, by jing ! 
Till I jes' got jerked up and fined! — 
Fer here I stood, as a dern fool's apt 
To, and let that train jes' chuiF and choo 
Eight apast me — and mouth jes' gapped 
Like a blamed old sandwitch warped in two! 



120 



GRANNY. 

GRANNY'S come to our house, 
And ho ! my lawzy-daisy ! 
All the childern round the place 

Is ist a-runin' crazy ! 
Fetched a cake fer little Jake, 

And fetched a pie fer Nanny, 
And fetched a pear fer all the pack 
That runs to kiss ther Granny! 

Lucy Ellen's in her lap, 

And Wade, and Silas Walker, 
Both's a-ridin' on her foot. 

And 'Polios on the rocker; 
And Marthy's twins, from Aunt Marin's, 

And little orphant Anny, 
All's a-eatin' gingerbread 

And giggle-un at Granny! 



121 



Tells us all tne fairy tales 

Ever thought er wundered — 
And 'bundance o' other stories — 

Bet she knows a hunderd ! — 
Bob's the one fer " Whittington," 

And "Golden Locks" for Fanny! 
Hear 'em laugh and clap ther hands, 

Listenin' at Granny ! 

Jack the Giant-Killer" 's good — 

And " Bean-stalk" 's another — 
So's the one of Cinderell' 

And her old godmother ; — 
That un's best of all the rest — 

Bestest one of any, — 
Where the mices scampers home 

Like we runs to Granny! 

Granny's come to our house, 

Ho ! my lawzy-daisy ! 
All the childern round the place 

Is ist a-runnin' crazy ! 



122 



Fetched a cake fer little Jake, 
And fetched a pie fer Nanny, 

And fetched a pear fer all the pack 
That runs to kiss ther Granny! 



123 



OLD OCTOBER. 

ryoD OCTOBER'S purt' nigh gone, 
^And the frosts is comin' on 
Little heavier every day — 
Like our hearts is thataway! 
Leaves is changin' overhead 
Back from green, to gray and red, 
Brown, and yeller, with their stems 
Loosenin' on the oaks and e'ms; 
And the balance of the trees 
Gittin' balder every breeze — 
Like the heads we're scratchin' on ! 
Old October's purt' nigh gone. 

I love Old October so, 
I can't bear to see her go — 
Seems to me like losin' some 
Old-home relative, er chum — 
'Pears like sorto' settin' by 
Some old friend 'at sigh by sigh 

124 



Was a-passin' out o' sight 
Into everlastin' night! 
Hickernuts a feller hears 
Rattlin' down is more like tears 
Drappin' on the leaves below — 
I love Old October so! 

Can't tell what it is about 
Old October knocks me out ! — 
I sleep well enough at night — 
And the blamedest appetite 
Ever mortal man possessed, — 
Last thing et, it tastes the bestl- 
Warnuts, butternuts, pawpaws, 
lies and limbers up my jaws 
Fer raal service, sich as new 
Pork, spareribs, and sausage, too.- 
Yit, fer all, they's somepin' 'bout 
Old October knocks me out! 



125 



JIM. 

T TE was jes' a plain, ever'-day, all-round kind of 
^ ^ a jour., 

Consumpted-lookin' — but la ! • 
The jokeiest, wittiest, story-tellin', song-singin', 
laughin'est, j oiliest 
Feller you ever saw ! 
Worked at jes' coarse work, but you kin bet lie 
was fine enough in his talk. 
And his f eelin's too ! 
Lordy ! ef he was on'y back on his bench agin 
to-day, a-carryin' on 
Like he ust to do ! 

Any shop-mate'll tell you there never was, on top 
o' dirt, 

A better feller'n Jim ! 
You want a favor, and couldn't git it anywheres 

else — 

You could git it o' him ! 

126 



Most free-heartedest man thataway in the world, I 



guess ! 
Give up ever' nickel he's worth — 
And, ef you'd a-wanted it, and named it to him, 
and it was his. 
He'd a-give you the earth! 

Alius a-reachin' out, Jim was, and a he'pin' some 

Pore feller onto his feet — 
He'd a-never a-keered how hungry he was hisse'f, 

So's the feller got somepin' to eat! 
Didn't make no difference at all to him how he 
was dressed. 

He ust to say to me, — 
''You togg out a tramp purty comfortable in 
winter time, a-huntin' a job, 

And he'll git along ! " says he. 

Jim didn't have, ner never could git ahead so 
overly much 
O' this world's goods at a time. — 
Tore now I've saw him, more'n onc't, lend a 
dollar, and haf to, more'n likely, 
Turn round and borry a dime! 

127 



Mebby laugh and joke at)out it hisse'f fer a 
while — then jerk his coat, 
And kindo' square his chin, 
Tie on his apern, and squat hisse'f on his old 
shoe-bench, 
And go to peggin' agin! 

Patientest feller, too, I reckon', at ever jes' 
naturely 
Coughed hisse'f to death ! 
Long enough after his voice was lost he'd laugh 
in a whisper and say 
He could git ever' thing but his breath — 
*' You fellers," he'd sorto' twinkle his eyes and say, 

'' Is a-pilin onto me 
A mighty big debt for that-air little weak-chested 
ghost o'mine to pack 
Through all Eternity ! " 

Now there was a man 'at jes' 'peared like, to me, 

'At ortn't a-never a-died! 
''But death hain't a-showin' no favors," the old 

boss said, 
''On'y to Jim!" and cried: 

128 



And Wigger, who puts up the best sewed-work 
in the shop, 
Er the whole blame neighborhood, 
He says, ''When God made Jim, I bet you He 
didn't do anything else that day 
But jes' set around and feel good ! " 



129 



A TALE OF THE AIRLY BAYS. 

OH! TELL ME a tale of the airly days — 
Of the times as they ust to be ; 
''Filler Of Fire," and " Shakspeare's Plays," 
Is a 'most too deep fer me! 
I want plain facts, and I want plain words, 

Of the good old-fashioned ways, 
When speech run free as the songs of birds — 
'Way back in the airly days. 

Tell me a tale of the timber-lands, 

And the old-time pioneers — 
Somepin' a pore man understands 

With his feelins', well as ears: 
Tell of the old log house, — about 

The loft, and the puncheon floor — 
The old fire-place, with the crane swung out, 

And the latch-string through the door. 



330 



Tell of the things jest like they wuz — 

They don't need no excuse! 
Don't tetch'em up like the poets does, 

Till they're all too fine fer use! 
Say they wuz 'leven in the family — 

Two beds and the chist below, 
And the trundle-beds 'at each helt three; 

And the clock and the old bureau. 

Then blow the horn at the old back door 

Till the echoes all halloo, 
And the child ern gethers home onc't more, 

Jest as they ust to do ; 
Blow fer Pap till he hears and comes, 

AVith Tomps and Elias, too, 
A-marchin' home, with the fife and drums, 

And the old Ked White and Blue! 

Blow and blow — till the sound draps low 
As the moan of the whipperwill. 

And wake up Mother, and Ruth, and Jo, 
All sleepin' at Bethel Hill ; 



131 



Blow and call till the faces all 

Shine out in the back-log's blaze, 
And the shadders dance on the old hewed wall, 

As they did in the airly days. 



132 



TO ROBERT BURNS. 

WEET SINGER, that I loe the maist 
^ O' ony, sin' wi' eager haste 

1 smacket bairn-lips ower the taste 

O' hinnied sang, 
I hail thee, though a blessed ghaist 
In Heaven lang! 

For, weel I ken, nae cantie phrase, 
Nor courtly airs, nor lairdly ways, 
Could gar me freer blame, or praise. 

Or proffer hand. 
Where ''Rantin' Robbie" and his lays 

Thegither stand. 

And sae these hamely lines I send, 
Wi' jinglin' words at ilka end, 



132 



In echo of the sangs that wend 

Frae thee to me 
Like simmer-brooks, wi' mony a bend 

O' wimplin' glee. 

In fancy, as wi' dewy een, 

I part the clouds aboon the scene 

Where thou wast born, and peer atween, 

I see nae spot 
In a' the Hielands half sae green 

And unforgot! 

I see nae storied castle-hall, 

Wi' banners flauntin' ower the wall, 

And serf and page in ready call, 

Sae grand to me 
As ane puir cotter's hut, wi' all 

Its poverty. 

There where the simple daisy grew 
Sae bonnie sweet, and modest, too, 



134 



Thy liltin' filled its wee head fu' 

O' sic a grace, 
It aye is weepin' tears o' dew 

Wi' droopit face. 

Frae where the heather bluebells fling 
Their sangs o' fragrance to the Spring, 
To where the lavrock soars to sing, 

Still lives thy strain, 
For a' the birds are twittering 

Sangs like thine ain. 

And aye, by light o' sun or moon, 
By banks o' Ayr, or Bonnie Doon, 
The waters lilt uae tender tune 

But sweeter seems 
Because they poured their limpid rune 

Through a' thy dreams. 

Wi' brimmin' lip, and laughin' ee, 
Thou shookest even Grief wi' glee, 



135 



Yet had nae niggart sympathy 
Where Sorrow bowed, 

But gavest a' thy tears as free 
As a' thy gowd. 

And sae it is we loe thy name 
To see bleeze up wi' sic a flame, 
That a' pretentious stars o' fame 

Maun blink asklent. 
To see how simple worth may shame 

Their brightest glent. 



336 



A NEW YEAR'S TIME AT WILLABDS'S. 
I. 

THE HIRED MAN TALKS. 

'y HERE'S old man Willards; an' his ^ife; 
-■- An' Marg'et — S'repty's sister; — an' 
There's me — an' I'm the hired man, 
An' Tomps McClure, you bet yer life ! 

Well, now, old Willards haint so bad, 

Considerin' the chance he's had, 

Of course, he's rich, an' sleeps an' eats 

Whenever he's a mind to : Takes 
An' leans back in the Amen-seats, 

An' thanks the Lord fer all he makes — 
That's purty much all folks has got 
Ag'inst the old man, like as not ! 
But there's his woman — jes' the turn 
Of them-air two wild girls o' hern — 

Marg'et an' S'repty — alius in 
Fer any cuttin'-up concern — 

Church festibals, an' foolishin' 

137 



Round Christmas trees, an' New Year's sprees — 

Set up to watch the Old Year go 
An' New Year come — sich things as these ; 

An' turkey dinners, don't you know! 
S'repty 's younger, an' more gay. 

An' purtier, an' finer dressed 
Than Marg'et is — but Lawsy-day! 
She haint the independentest ! — 
"Take care!" old Willards used to say, 
"Take care! Let Marg'et have her way, 
An' S'repty, you go off an' play 
On your melodeum ! " — But best 

Of all comes Tomps ! An' I'll be bound, 
Ef he haint jes' the beatin'est 

Young chap in all the country round ! 
Ef you knoAved Tomps you'd like him, 
shore ! 
They haint no man on top o' ground 
Walks into my affections more ! — 
An' all the settlement'll say 
That Tomps was liked jes' thataway 
By ever'body, till he tuck 

A shine to S'repty Willards. — Then 
You'd orto' see the old man ' ' buck," 



138 



An' h'ist hisse'f, an' paw the dirt, 

An' hint that common workin'-men 
That didn't want their feelin's hurt, 

Had better hunt fer ' ' comp'ny " where 
The folks was pore an' didn't care ! — 
The pine-blank facts is, — the old man, 
Last Christmas was a year ago, 

Found out some presents Tomps had got 
Fer S'repty, an' hit made him hot — 
Set down an' tuck his pen in hand 
An' writ to Tomps an' told him so 
On legal cap, in white an' black. 
An' give him jes' to understand 
"No Christmas-gifts o' ' lilly- white ' 
An' bear's -ile could fix matters right," 
An' wropped 'em up an' sent 'em back! 
Well, S'repty cried and snuffled round 

Consid'able. But Marg'et she 
Toed out another sock, an' wound 
Her knittin' up an' drawed the tea. 
An' then set on the supper things. 
An' went up in the loft an' dressed — 
An' through it all you'd never guessed 

What she was up to ! An' she brings 

139 



Her best hat with her an' her shawl, 
An' gloves, an' redicule, an' all, 
An' injirubbers, an' comes down 
An' tells 'em she's a-goin' to town 
To he'p the Christmas goin's-on 
Her church got up. An' go she does — 
The best hosswoman ever was! 
"An' what'll we do while you're gone?" 
The old man says, a-tryin' to be 
Agreeable. ' ' Oh ! you f " says she, — 
'' You kin jaw S'repty, like you did. 
An' slander Tomps ! " An' off she rid ! 

Now, this is all I'm goin' to tell 
Of this here story — that is, I 
Have done my very level best 
As fer as this, an' here I " dwell," 
As auctioneers says, winkin' sly : 

Hits old man Willards tells the rest. 

II. 

THE OLD MAN TALKS. 

Adzackly jes' one year ago, 

This New Year's day, Tomps comes to me 

140 



In my own house, an' while the folks 
Was gittin' dinner, — an' he pokes 
His nose right in, an ' says, says he : 
"I got yer note — an' read it slow! 
You don't like me, ner I don't you" 

He says, — "we 're even there, you know! 
But you've said, furder, that no gal 
Of yourn kin marry me, er shall. 
An' I'd best shet off comin', too ! " 

An' then he says, — " Well them's your views. 
But, havin' talked with S'repty, we 
Have both agreed to disagree 
With your peculiar notions some. 

An' that's the reason I refuse 

To quit a-comin' here, but come — 
Not fer to threat, ner raise no skeer, 
An' spile yer turkey-dinner here, — 
But, jes' fer S'rept/s sake, to sheer 
Yer New Year's. Shall I take a cheer?" 

Well, blame-don ! ef I ever see 

Sich impidence ! I couldn't say 
Not nary word ! But mother she 

Sot out a cheer fer Tomps, an' they 

141 



Shuck hands an' turned their back on me. 

Then I riz — mad as mad could be — 

But Marg'et says,— " Now, Pap! you set 
Right where you're settin'! Don't you fret! 

An' Tomps, you warm yer feet ! " says she, 
"An' throw yer mitts an' comfort 'on 
The bed there ! Where is S'repty gone ? — 
The cabbage is a-scortchin' ! Ma, 
Stop cryin' there an' stir the slaw ! " 

Well ! — what was Mother cryin' fer ? — 
I half riz up — but Marg'et's chin 
Hit squared — an' I set down agin — 

I alius was afeared o' her — 

I was, by jucks! So there I set, 

Betwixt a sinkin'-chill an' sweat. 

An' scuffled with my wrath, an' shet 

My teeth to mighty tight, you bet! 
An' yit, fer all that I could do, 

I eeched to jes' git up an' whet 
The carvin'-knife a rasp er two 
On Tomps's ribs — an' so would you! — 

Fer he had riz an' faced around. 

An' stood there, smilin', as they brung 

The turkey in, all stuffed an' browned — 

142 



Too sweet fer nose er tooth er tongue! 
With sniffs o' sage, an' p'raps a dash 

Of old burnt brandy, steamin' hot 
Mixed kind o' in with apple-mash, 

An' mince -meat, an' the Lord knows what! 
Nobody was a-talkin' then 

To 'filliate my awk'ardness — 

No noise o' any kind, but jes' 
The rattle o' the dishes when 
They'd fetch 'em in an' set 'em down, 
An' fix an' change 'em round an' round. 

Like women does — Till mother says, — 
''Vittels is ready; Abner, call 

Down S'repty — she's up stairs, I guess." — 
And Marg'et she says, ' ' Ef you bawl 
Like that, she'll not come down at all ! 
Besides, we needn't wait till she 
Gits down! Here, Tomps, set down by me, 

An' Pap, say grace ! " Well, there I was. 
What could I do ! I drapped my head 
Behind my fists an' groaned, an' said : — 
"Indulgent Parent! in Thy cause 
We bow the head an' bend the knee. 



143 



An' break the bread, an' pour the wine, 
Feelin'" — (The stair-door suddently 
Went bang! an' S'repty flounced by me) — 
'■'Feelin'," I says, "this feast is Thine — 

This New Year's feast" — An' rap-rap-rap! 

Went Marg'et's case-knife on her plate — 
An' next, I heerd a sasser drap, — 
Then I looked up, an' strange to state, 
There S'repty set in Tomps's lap — 

An' huggin' him, as shore as fate ! — 
An' mother kissin' him k-slap! 
An' Marg'et — she chips in to drap 

The ruther peert remark to me : — 
"That 'grace' o' yourn," she says, "wont 

'gee'— ^ 

This haint no ' New Year's feast,' " says she,— 
^^ This is a' Inf air Dinner, Pap!" 

An' so it was! — Ben married fer 

Purt'nigh a week ! — 'Twas Marg'et planned 
The whole thing fer 'em, through an' 
through. 
I'm reconciled; an', understand, 



144 



I take things jes' as they occur, — 

Ef Marg'et liked Tomps, Tomps 'ud do! 
But I-says-I, a-holt his hand, — 
"I'm glad you didn't marry her — 
'Cause Marg'et's my guardeen — Yes, sir ! — 
Au' S'repty's good enough fer you ! " 



145 



THE TOWN KARNTEEL. 

THE town Karnteell — It's who'll reveal 
Its praises jusiitifiable? 
For wlio can sing av anything 

So lovely and reliable ? 
Whin Summer, Spring, or Winter lies 

From Malin's Head to Tipperary, 
There's no such town for interprise 
Bechuxt Youghal and Londonderry!* 

There's not its likes in Ireland — 
For twic't the week, be-gorries ! 
They're playing jigs upon the band — 
And joomping there in sacks — and — and — - 
And racing, wid wheel-borries ! 

Karnteel — its there, like any fair, 
The purty gurrls is plinty, sure ! — 

And, man-alive! at forty-five 

The legs av me air twinty, sure ! 

146 



I lave me cares, and hoein', too, 

Behint me, as is siusible, 
And its Karnteel I'm goin' to, 

To cilebrate in principal! 

For there's the town av all the land ! 

And twic't the week, be-gorries! 
They're playing jigs upon the band. 
And joomping there in sacks — and — and 

And racing, wid wheel-borries ! 

And whilst I feel for ould Karnteel 

That I've no phrases glorious, 
It stands above the need av love 

That boasts in voice uproarious! — 
Lave that for Cork, and Dublin, too. 

And Armagh and Killarney, thin, — 
And Karnteel won't be troublin' you 

Wid any jilous blarney, thin ! 

For there's the town av all the land, 
Where twic't the week, be-gorries! 
They're playing jigs upon the band — 
And joomping there in sacks — and — and- 
And racing, wid wheel-borries! 

147 



REGARDIN' TERRY HUT. 

PENCE I tuck holt o' Gibbses Churn 

^ And ben a-handlin' the concern, 

I've traveled round the grand ole State 

Of Indiany lots, of late ! 

I've canvassed Crawferdsville and sweat 

Around the town of Lafayette; 

I've saw a many a County-seat 

-if 

I ust to think was hard to beat : 
At constant dreenage and expense 
I've worked Greencastle and Vincennes- 
Drapped out o' Putnam into Clay, 
Owen, and on down thataway 
Plum' into Knox, on the back-track 
Fer home agin — and glad I'm back ! — 
I've saw these towns, as I say — but 
They's none 'at beats ole Terry Hut! 

Its more'n likely you'll insist 

I claim this 'cause I'm predjudist, 

148 



Bein' born'd liere in ole Vygo 

In sight o' Terry Hut ; — but no, 

Yer clean dead wrong ! — and I maintain 

They's nary drap in ary vein 

O' mine but what's as free as air 

To jest take issue with you there ! — 

'Cause, boy and man, fer forty year, 

I've argied aginst livin' here, 

And jawed around and traded lies 

About our lack o' enterprise ; 

And tuck and turned in and agreed 

All other towns was in the lead, 

When — drat my melts ! — they couldn't cut 

No shine a-tall with Terry Hut! 

Take, even, statesmanship and wit, 

And ginerel git-up-and-git, — 

Ole Terry Hut is sound clean through ! — 

Turn ole Dick Thompson loose, er Dan 

Vorehees — and where's they any man 

Kin even hold a candle to 

Their eloquence? And where's as clean 

A fi-nan-seer as Rile' McKeen — 

Er puorer, in his daily walk, 

149 



In railroad er in racein' stock! 

And there's 'Gene Debs — a man 'at stands 

And jest holds out in his two hands 

As warm a heart as ever beat 

Betwixt here and the Jedgement Seat! — 

All these is reasons why I put 

Sich bulk o' faith in Terry Hut. 

So I've come back, with eyes 'at sees 
My faults, at last, — to make my peace 
With this old place, and truthful swear — 
Like Gineral Tom Nelson does, — 

''They haint no city anywhere 
On God's green earth lays over us!" 
Our city govament is grand — 

''Ner is they better farmin'-land 
Sun-kissed" — as Tom goes on and says-— 

"Er dower'd with sich advantages!" 
And I've come back, with welcome tread, 
From journeyin's vain, as I have said. 
To settle down in ca'm content, 
And cuss the towns where I have went, 
And bras: on ourn and boast and strut 
Around the streets o' Terry Hut! 

150 



LEEDLE DUTCH BABY. 

T EEDLE Dutch baby haff come ter town ! 
^ Jabber undjump till der day gone down 
Jabber iind sphlutter, und sphlit liees jaws — 
Vot a Dutch baby dees Launsmon vas! 
I dink dose mout' vas leedle too vide 
Ober he laugh fon dot also-side ! 
Haff got blenty off deemple und vrown — 
Hey ! leedle Dutchman, come ter town ! 

Leedle Dutch baby, I dink me proud 
Ober your fader can schquall dot loud 
Ven he vas leedle Dutch baby like you, 
Und yoost don't gare like he alvays do! — 
Guess ven dey vean him on beer, you bet 
Dot's der because dot he aind veaned yet! — 
Vot you said off he drink you down ? 
Hey ! leedle Dutchman, come ter town ! 



lOl 



Leedle Dutch baby, yoost schquall avay- 
Schquall fon preakfast till gisterday ! 
Better you all time cry und shout 
Dan shmile me vonce fon der coffin out! 
Vot I gare off you keek my nose 
Downside-up mit your heels unt toes — 
Downside, oder der upside-down. — 
Hey! leedle Dutchman, come ter town! 



352 



DOWN ON WRIGGLE CRICK. 

Best Time to Kill a Hog 's when He 's Fat.— OZd Saw, 

MOSTLY, folks is law abidin', 
Down on Wriggle Crick, — 
Seein' they's no 'Squire residin' 

In our bailywick; 
No grand-juries — no suppeenies, 

Ner no vested rights to pick 
Out yer man, jerk up and jail ef 
He's outragin' Wriggle Crick! 

Wriggle Crick kaint got no lawin', 

Ner no suits to beat; 
Ner no court-house gee-and-hawin' 

Like a county-seat; 
Haint no waitin' round fer verdicks, 

Ner non-gittin' witness-fees: 
Ner no thiefs 'at gits '' new hearin's," 

By some lawyer slick as grease ! 

153 



Wriggle Cricks's leadin' spirit 

Is old Johnts Culwell, — 
Keeps postoffice, and right near it 

Owns what's called '^The Grand Hotel"— 
( Warehouse now ) — buys wheat and ships it ; 

Gits out ties, and trades in stock, 
And knows all the high-toned drummers 

'Twixt South Bend and Mishawauk. 

Last year comes along a feller — 

Sharper 'an a lance, — 
Stovepipe-hat, and silk umbreller, 

And a boughten all-wool pants, — 
Tinkerin' of clocks and watches ; 

Says a trial's all he wants — 
And rents out the tavern-office 

Next to uncle Johnts. 

Well. — He tacked up his k'dentials. 

And got down to biz. — 
Captured Johnts by cuttin' stencils 

Fer them old wheat-sacks o' his. — 



154 



Fixed his clock, in the postoffice — 
Painted fer him, clean and slick, 

'Crost his safe in gold-leaf letters, 
''J. Cullwells's, Wriggle Crick." 

Any kind o' job you keered to 

Resk him with, and bring. 
He'd fix fer you — jest appeared to 

Turn his hand to anything ! — 
Rings, er earbobs, er umbrellers — 

Glue a cheer, er chany doll, — 
Wj, of all the beatin' fellers 

He jest beat 'em all ! 

Made his friends, but wouldn't stop there. 

One mistake he learnt. 
That was, sleepin' in his shop there. — 

And one Sunday night it burnt ! 
Come in one o' jest a-sweepin' 

All the whole town high and dry — 
And that feller, when they waked him, 

Suffocatin', mighty nigh ! 



155 



Johnts he drug him from the buildin', 

Helpless — 'peared to be, — 
And the women and the childern 

Drenchin' him with sympathy ! 
But I noticed Johnts helt on him 

With a' ex try lovin' grip, 
And the men-folks gethered round him 

In most warmest pardership ! 

That's the whole mess, grease and dopin'! 

Johnts's safe was saved, — 
But the lock was found sprung open. 

And the inside caved. 
Was no trial — ner no jury — 

Ner no jedge ner court-house-click, — 
Circumstances alters cases 

Down on Wriggle Crick ! 



156 



WHEN BE FOLKS IS GONE. 

WHAT dat scratchin' at de kitchin' do'? 
Done heah'n dat fob an hour er mo'! 
Tell you, Mr. Niggah, das slio's yo' bo'n, 
Hit's might lonesome waitin' when de folks is 

gone ! 

Blame my trap ! how de wind do blow ! 

An' dis is das' de night fob de witches, sho' ! 

Day's trouble gon' to waste when de ole slut 

whine. 
An' you heah de cat a-spittin' when de moon don't 

shine ! 

Chune my fiddle, an' de bridge go ''hang!" 
An' I lef 'er right back whah she alius hang, 
An' de tribble snap short an' de apern split 
When dey no mortal man wah a-techin' hit! 



157 



Dali ! Xou\ what I How de ole j'ice cracks ! 
'Spec' dis liouse. ef hit tell ^^lain fac's, 
"Ud talk about de ha'nts wid dev long tails on 
What dasn't on y come when de folks is gone 1 

What I tuk an" done ef a sho'-nuff ghos' 

Pop right up by de ole bed-pos"? 

What dat shinin' fru de front do' crack? .... 

God bress de Lo"d ! hit's de folks o:ot back ! 



1.58 



THE LITTLE TOWN 0' TAILHOLT. 

YOU kin boast about yer cities, and tbeir stiddy 
growth and size, 
And brag about yer county-seats, and business 

enterprise, 
And railroads, and factories, and all sich foolery — 
But the little Town o' Tailholt is big enough fer 
me ! 

You can harp about yer churches, with their 

steeples in the clouds. 
And gas about yer graded streets, and blow about 

yer crowds; 
You kin talk about yer theaters, and all you've 

got to see — 
But the little Town o' Tailholt is show enough fer 

me ! 

They haint no style in our town — hit's little-like 

and small — 
They haint no churches ^ nuther, — jes' the meetin'- 

house is all ; 

159 



They's no sidewalks, to speak of — but the 

highway's alius free, 
And the little Town o' Tailholt is wide enough fer 



me: 



Some finds its discommodin'-like, I'm willin' to 

admit, 
To hev but one postoffice, and a womern keepin' 

hit. 
And the drugstore, and shoeshop, and grocery, all 

three — 
But the little Town o' Tailholt is handy 'nough 

fer me ! 

You kin smile, and turn yer nose up, and joke 

and hev yer fun. 
And laugh and holler "Tail-holts is better holts 'n 

non^ ! " 
Ef the city suits you better, w'y, hits where 

you'd orto' be. 
But the little Town o' Tailholt 's good enough fer 

me! 



160 



/ i:r 



